


The Taste of Betrayal

by telemachus



Series: Rising-verse [55]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Guilt, Homophobia, M/M, Unrequited Love, Unrequited longing, Valinor, weird elves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2833055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being in Valinor doesn't change anything for some elves. Lindir is still Lindir.</p><p>But those who sailed later - their arrival may change a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste of Betrayal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [consumptive_sphinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consumptive_sphinx/gifts).



> Holiday gift for Snow_glows_blue who wanted to know more about Lindir......its not very fluffy though.

“They will have to be told,” he says, in that quiet determined voice, “they cannot be allowed to continue to behave so – not in front of all my elves, not in this place. If they cannot behave in a more – circumspect – fashion, then they will have to take themselves off somewhere else,” he sighs, weary with all the work, the responsibility, and I long to make it easier for him, long to do more to help, “after all, Valinor is big enough – I am sure they could find somewhere none need see or hear their behaviour.”

I drop my eyes – this is not something I can talk of with ease – but at the same time, I feel – I feel I must speak,

“My lord,” I say, hesitantly, “my lord – are you so sure it offends?”

And when he looks at me, I feel myself flush, but I force my voice to continue the words I think should be said,

“After all – the lord Celeborn seems not worried, and – and the others who came from Imladris are used to it – and – and my lord – your sons are so fond of them –“

But perhaps that was the worst thing to say.

His face becomes sterner than ever, and I quail inwardly, as he looks at me as though – as though I am a fool.

“Indeed they are. And I would not have them think this – this unelven behaviour acceptable. Glorfindel may be assured of the forgiveness of the Valar for whatever he chooses to do – although I fail to see how he can risk Erestor so – my sons are not. My sons – I will not have them cast out, made mortal – doomed to die – for one transgression. I will not risk my sons.”

Doubtless I am a fool.

For all that I can see the flaws in this – after all, how many years have his sons known of this, yet they still found their way here, and perhaps – perhaps the Valar do not care overly much, as Erestor says – but for all these flaws, I cannot argue further.

All I can do is nod, and obey.

I have no will-power when he speaks to me. 

I am nothing in the face of his certainty.

But then,

“See to it, Lindir,” he says, “speak to them. Today. Tell them I will have decent behaviour, or they will leave this valley of mine.”

I shake my head, I do not want to do this, it is not right, I cannot, my lord, I cannot, they have been so kind to me over the years, they – Erestor especially – have ever known my pain, my heart, my longing, and they have never let any mock me for my failings. I cannot betray them so.

The words are in my mouth, in my head, ready to be spoken.

But – I am an elf – my heart rules me.

And my lord rules my heart.

Even so, I try. For a long moment, I try.

I hesitate, my doubts plain to see, and he raises an eyebrow, commandingly.

I bow in silence, and leave my lord; I go to carry out my orders.

And I know myself to be of no worth.

 

 

 

As luck would have it – and I think the luck runs against me – I do not find Erestor alone. I find them together, the lord Glorfindel stretched out on the grass, his hair spread among the celandine – shockingly, he is unbound, and he cares not – one knee drawn up to make a rest for Erestor’s back as he curls like a cat between Glorfindel’s splayed legs. The lord’s hand reaches idly up to play with the dark tresses that flow down, and I blush again to see the chief councillor unbound so.

He smiles kindly – Erestor is always kind – at least, he is rarely malicious, rarely unkind without reason – but I know I am about to give him reason, and I mourn these last moments of ease. 

“Lindir,” he greets me, “what brings you here? has our lord Elrond need of – of what?” he laughs, and I try to think when last I heard him so relaxed, “he needs not his chief warrior in this land, and I can think of no problem that his lady could not advise him on better than I.” He smiles again, and leans back into the stroking hand, “or are you simply looking for peace, for a place to sit and watch the elves go by? In which case – sit you down, and be you welcome. We have been amiss, I know, we have not made much effort recently to be sociable, to renew friendships that held many years before the Sea parted us all for a while. Tell us of the wonders of this land we have not yet seen.”

I cannot help it, my eyes flicker to the lord Glorfindel – and I notice there are no words of welcome from him. I wonder if he suspects my errand, or if – if he would simply rather be alone with his – his lover.

And strange the word seems.

But he does not speak, and so – like the coward I am – like the liar, the betrayer, that I am – I sit down, and for a while we speak of – nothing.

Erestor and I speak. 

The lord Glorfindel is silent, his hands at first busy rearranging the lacings of his leggings, adjusting Erestor’s tunic – it is not often one sees Erestor so untidy, but I suppose it is not often one sees him sitting on the grass – and then the lord’s hands fall back to idleness, one outstretched, one tangling in his combmate’s hair.

Indeed, after a while, I think he may even be in reverie – and it seems to me that this is the time for me to carry out my dishonourable duty.

“Lord – councillor – Erestor,” I say, breaking in to his comparison of different fruits – and when, I should ask myself, but I do not, blind fool that I am, when did Erestor talk so idly? Never, and it is only later that I realise, that I understand he knew, he is no fool, he knows my lord’s ways, he knew all along the purpose for which I am sent, “I am sent – I do not know how to say this – but – my lord – sent me to speak with you – the two of you – he – he is not happy.”

Erestor’s eyebrow raises, and I find – Glorfindel was not asleep, as he mutters,

“And when was Elrond ever happy? What now?”

Erestor slaps gently at his hand and rebukes him,

“Often. Our lord was often happy in days gone by, when all was well, when the children were young. Do not be harsh on him – neither of us ever lost a lover, neither of us lost a child – what do we know?”

Their eyes meet, and I cannot but be envious of the look that passes between them as Glorfindel answers,

“Oh nothing, nothing; I know only – I could not – duty be Balrog-ed – I could not stay over the Sea from you and so – I do not understand our lord anymore.”

Erestor lowers his head and – and I can barely believe I am seeing this – the lord councillor, known for his lack of emotion, his coldness – brings their joined hands up to his mouth, but this is no courtly kiss of allegiance, as one would expect between two so vowed, two of the Ages gone by, this – this kiss, this movement of mouth over knuckle is – a promise, a promise I cannot read and should not see. Their eyes meet and their breathing – they breathe together, hard – and I – I do not know quite what to think. After a long moment, Erestor leans back and says something in – in a Quenya I do not understand. An old dialect I suppose – and the answer must also be – more loving than I can imagine from the expressions on their faces.

I cannot look at them. I pluck a flower, and I spin it in my hands, wondering how to say it. 

They wait, their hands locked together – and my envy robs me of my skill with words.

I decide there is no good way, no righteous words, and so – so I repeat my lord’s words, hoping that perhaps – perhaps they will understand I have no choice.

“My lord Elrond says you cannot be allowed to continue to behave so – not in front of all his elves, not in this place. If you cannot behave in a more – circumspect – fashion, then he would have you take yourselves off somewhere else, after all, Valinor is big enough – he is sure you could find somewhere none need see or hear your behaviour,” I swallow, hearing the echoing silence from in front of me, but I dare not look up, and I find, it is as though I am falling, I cannot stop, “he would not have others think this – this unelven behaviour acceptable. Glorfindel may be assured of the forgiveness of the Valar for whatever he chooses to do – although my lord fails to see how you can risk Erestor so – but the twins are not. His sons – my lord Elrond will not have them cast out, made mortal – doomed to die – for one transgression. He will not risk his sons.”

I keep my eyes on the flower, I wait to see if they speak.

They do not, and I stand.

I drop the flower, and I see it lie, broken, crumpled, spoilt by my hands. Its brightness dimmed, its bloom faded.

A fragile beauty, needlessly destroyed.

I turn away, unable to look at their faces.

“I am sorry,” I say, “I – they are not my words. I – I do not know – I have not heard any other speak so.”

I suppose I am hoping for forgiveness, for their understanding of my position.

There is silence.

For a moment I want to defend myself, to ask if they would rather Elrond had come to them and said this, had raged, as he can rage? If they would rather he had found one who rejoiced in saying it?

But I know – too well – there is a part of me which cries out – why should they have what I cannot? Why should they be so happy and flaunt it to us all? Why are they allowed what we were taught elves are forbidden?

Have they no shame?

If elves can do as they do – then – then I – I could have offered something – when my love was alone, and ached, and I – believing in the rules of elves – I stayed silent, I offered neither shared comb nor shared song nor – nor this – whatever it is that they have. Because I was told there was no comfort for one whose love was gone. Because I was told that is how it is for elves, we love once, and love is either for marriage or for combing – or – or for longing alone. Because I did not know. But if elves can act as mortals – then – then perhaps I could have comforted my love. And though I would now be alone once more – I would have the memory of it. 

I would have the memory of sweet words, of hands in hair, of ears touched and – and whatever more he asked.

But I did not know. No-one told me elves can be unelven if they choose.

I do not know how they found out, how they learnt this – I only know I envy them their happiness. 

I want neither of them, and never have, it is not that, it is simply – if they knew – why did they not tell me? 

Why did they not give me the chance, in the days when it would perhaps have been of use, to offer all that I am to my beloved?

I am angry with them that they did not.

I want to shout at them, ask them why they denied me that small comfort, that brief time?

But I do not.

They are as far above me in estate as they ever were, and I am nothing, I have nothing, all I have is my longing, my love for him – while they – they have everything, as they have always had everything. Power, fame, riches, beauty, love.

I do not hate them for that, I never have. 

But why did they not tell me of this? I want to rail at them, ask them what I ever did to them that they should hurt me so? Why deny me that short span of years? 

And above all, I want to beg them to forgive me my envy, and understand I have no choice. I cannot refuse his commands – however ill I may know them to be.

They are content, they have each other, and the assurance of love returned.

All I am to him is someone to do the things he wishes to avoid.

Lindir, our service to the high king is ended with his death. Lindir, come with me to this strange valley and make it a home. Lindir, serve me. Lindir, welcome guests. Lindir, see that this valley is perfect. Lindir, organise feast-days. Lindir, take messages. Lindir, be a scribe. Lindir, run errands. Lindir, see that this is done, and this, and this. 

Lindir, watch me court my wife. Lindir, rejoice at my wedding. Lindir, watch over my children. Lindir, see my happiness. Lindir, see you are nothing to me. Lindir, tutor my children in music. Lindir, serve my children. Lindir, see that there is always music in my home. Lindir, entertain us. Lindir, watch me grieve. Lindir, see I turn not to you even now. Lindir, serve me. 

Lindir, go and welcome the dwarves. Lindir, make sure they are fed and housed. Lindir, deal with all these people I have summoned, many of whom hate each other. Lindir, take messages. Lindir, be a scribe. Lindir, run errands. Lindir, see that this is done, and this, and this. 

Lindir, organise my sailing. Lindir, find my wife and bring her to me. Lindir, see that this valley is perfect. Lindir, organise feast-days. Lindir, speak to this elf who has brought a dwarf to these lands. Lindir, greet Thranduil. Lindir, find the wife of Thranduil and persuade her to greet him. Lindir, keep watch for the day my sons arrive. Lindir, entertain us with your singing whatever your own mood. 

Lindir, destroy the happiness of those you admire. Lindir, betray those who were always kind to you. Lindir – I command it.

Lindir, show me your devotion.

Lindir, expect, ask, nothing in return, for you will receive nothing.

Lindir, be grateful I know your name.

Oh my lord, I am, I do.

Always.

My love for you is nothing to you, and so – I offer all the service you ask of me.

And now – now I offer you even my own honour, wet with the blood of a friendship that gave me comfort when you saw me not.

Their silence cuts me like a knife, chills me like a closed door and I long to cry out to them for forgiveness, for understanding – but to do so would be to criticise my lord, and I cannot.

Instead, I walk away, blindly, I know not where – for he will want nothing of me at this hour, and I – I am nothing when he needs me not.

Will not they in their happiness see how it is for me and find it possible to forgive me? 

I doubt it.

Forgiveness is not logical enough for one, and the other – is known for his implacable hatred of those he deems failed in honour.

And by my craven words, my actions this day – I have forfeited what little honour I ever had.

But I had no choice.

I acted as my lord required.

And I am nothing before him.


End file.
